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Of soldiers And patients Of the committed And convicts All their prayers Fall beneath the floorboards or reach the surface As roaches of the empty room who scatter when the lights come on. But there is no score keeper to put them on. Didn’t you know that redemption has Always been just a rumor And never payment to some trickster God Who wrote the scripts To all foul deeds which ends With a lit cigarette or tears? What do you expect when even the boss’s son doesn’t remember your name? Didn’t know that the sons And Daughters Of the gilded age No longer pray But that’s what happens when the promise of the after life has been Bought and sold By the very best second story men In the business? And didn’t you know heaven is an SRO of vacant rooms With waiting bathrooms down the hall? Who wants to live with someone who pisses On the toilet seat With the door open and refuses to flush anyway?